Beauty Is In The Eye of the Beholder
by Castlealexanderbeckett
Summary: Regina is a photographer. Robin's boss is a client looking to buy unique works from all over the world. When Robin is sent to Paris for Regina's work he ends up staying a bit longer than he had planned.


**Hey everybody!**

 **This is my first time writing fan fiction for OUAT, but I love Regina and Robin so I feel like I have to give it a try! If you feel like leaving a review please do as I really appreciate feedback! I hope you enjoy the story!**

Paris, France

Regina is a photographer, Robin is a client looking to buy unique works from all over the world. For some reason though he ends up staying in Paris a little while longer than he planned.

...

Regina leans down beneath the sculpture, her knees on the damp ground, the smell of newly blooming flowers in the air.

She brings the camera up to her face, and looks through the view finder, trying to find that perfect angle.

*Click click*, the shutter collapses then opens again; a new master piece born.

"Or not", she thinks lightly to herself as she glances briefly at the image and leans back again, taking another, leaning this way and that, working the angles, trying to find that perfect line.

As she works, a man looks on, his gaze first upon her behind, but then shifting to her face, mesmerized by the concentration pictured there. A face which he wishes could be captured itself by her camera, the beauty of an artist at her craft.

She shifts in her pose, moving to her feet and lifting the camera over the face of the statue she is photographing, and snapping a quick few without even looking, then brings the camera back down to move in between the work's arms which are crossed lightly at its chest and pushes the camera slightly through, while still allowing the arms to border the shot.

With that she is done with this statue, photographed at specific request by a client.

She turns and begins to walk out of the park, stopping here and there to take a picture of something that has caught her fancy— three children laughing, heads tilted back in joy as they all try to go down a slide at the same time, a rusted old orange bicycle propped up against the green metal gate bordering the park, 4 old men playing bocce and arguing about it as it their lives depended on it.

The man watches her as she flits along the grass, her simple black dress flowing in the wind, strands of hair pulling free from the loose bun which holds the black locks away from her face.

She is exquisite, probably one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen, with her dark eyes, her hair, the way the deep purple of her scarf makes her face appear to be made of pure light.

She is truly gorgeous, and from what he has seen, an impressive photographer, though he would have to see the prints to know for sure. Still, from the way she was shooting her subjects he can tell that they will be incredible, and he longs to see them in person.

Regina works her way back to her studio, taking in the beauty around her, walking slowly upon the cobble stone roads.

Finally reaching her studio, she flips the closed sign to open and sits down behind her desk in front of a wall of her greatest works to upload her new pictures to her computer, plugging the camera in and staring out the window.

There had been a man back at the park who had caught her eye; he had been watching her taking pictures but had also clearly been trying to hid the fact.

He had been quite attractive, with that ruggedly handsome look about him, a bit of stubble, stunning blue eyes, and, it had not escaped her notice, quite the nice body under a deep navy blue t-shirt with burgundy jeans, and brown shoes.

He had been watching her the whole time she was shooting, and while it had been a bit unnerving, she had fond that she liked it, as she could tell he had been watching her not just for her looks, but for the artistry in her shots, something she found rather pleasing.

Coming out of her thoughts to a soft ding alerting her that her photos were done, she turned to her computer to work, but couldn't seem to find it in herself to feel bad that she was still a bit entrenched in her daydreaming…

Robin stayed in the park for a while longer after the woman had left, gazing at the statue she had been capturing and sketching it out roughly.

He was no artist, but he had an eye for beauty, and beauty was his job.

His employer, a rich shmuk who loves beautiful things and is willing to pay any price to get them, sends him all over the world searching for exceptional works—statues, paintings, photography—you name it, Mr. Gold wants it. So as the mid morning hours turned towards noon Robin has risen, stretching his legs and walking out of the park ready to get down to business.

Ironically enough given that he had been thinking about a certain photographer all morning, he is in Paris this month for photography, Mr. Gold sending him to some tiny shop where legend had it that "Magic is made!". Robin ducks down into the Metro, and then comes up again near Rue St. Paul, walking a short distance more until he stands outside a little studio whose address matches the one in his phone.

Looking up he sees the word 'Angles' written above the door in a swirly font, noting the deep red color it is written in. "Interesting name," he thinks to himself as he pushes the door open swiftly, hearing a little chime when he walks in and is immediately surrounded by pictures.

Glancing around he sees that the work here is indeed exceptional, and that he had come to the right place.

Hearing movement, he turns in place, and is stunned to see the very woman he has been thinking of all morning walk through a small door at the back of the room, brows drawing briefly together in confusion as she see's him, and then quickly smoothing out into a professional look as she asks with a smile "Can I help you?". His heart nearly stops.


End file.
